James and Me
by Northumbrian
Summary: Annabel has a bad day, and she tries to deal with it as best she can. The last thing she needs is to meet someone else who has hurt her, someone who she hasn't seen in many years. Do people really change. Has James Sirius Potter finally grown up? Warning: Language, and some smut.
1. Cataclysm

**Cataclysm**

It was seven o'clock in the morning when I finally decided that I wasn't going to get any real sleep. I rolled off my bed, tiptoed into the kitchen, and began to make myself a pot of tea.

I immersed myself in the ritual, emptying and rinsing the kettle before filling it with fresh water and setting it to boil. Taking my mug from the tree, I found my strainer in the drawer and carefully set it in the mug.

As the kettle began its first hiss, I looked along the line of caddies. Definitely not the Himalayan Darjeeling, nor the Lapsang Souchong; I hesitated over the Ceylon Orange Pekoe, but I finally went for the Classic Earl Grey. I carefully placed the caddy next to the teapot and lifted the teapot lid. I discovered to my horror that there was stale tea in it. After sniffing cautiously at it and wrinkling my nose, I upended the pot over the sink. A couple of cheap supermarket own-brand teabags dropped out. From the state of them, they'd been there for weeks.

Teabags!

There were _teabags_ in _my_ teapot. Vicki couldn't have done it. She wouldn't dare. I'd made that abundantly very clear to her on the one and only occasion she'd used my pot. She would never presume to put teabags into my teapot, I was certain of it.

It could only have been Simon.

I remembered the morning I'd left for home, three weeks earlier. The night before I'd caught the bus home, he'd stayed over, and that morning he'd made me breakfast in bed.

He'd made me tea and toast. I'd been so surprised that he'd done something so ordinary for me that I hadn't complained about the tea or the bland white bread. He'd brought the stuff with him, he'd told me proudly. He'd been shopping.

"Tea is tea," he'd told me, when I'd asked him what sort of tea it was. When I pointed out that I had four caddies of loose tea, he'd shrugged dismissively. "Teabags are so easy, Anna, none of the mess of the loose stuff." None of the taste, either, I'd thought to myself, but I hadn't complained at the time.

I should have realised. The useless, nasty, evil bastard! I added despoiling my teapot to his list of crimes. Why hadn't I spotted the signs? My boyfriend—no, my ex-boyfriend—drank rubbish tea!

I filled the teapot with boiling water, swished it around, and tipped it down the sink. I then repeated the process twice more, making certain that there were no remnants of the horrible cheap tea in the pot. Satisfied, I added a generous measure of leaves, poured in the water, waited three minutes, and poured.

As I sipped the Earl Grey, I placed my tablet on the kitchen table, propped it up against the wall, and flicked it on to the BBC Breakfast News. I watched the world's troubles and tried to persuade myself that lots of people were worse off than I was. It was true; they were, but it didn't make me feel any better. My problem, I realised, was that I still had feelings for him. I couldn't figure out why.

At nine o'clock, my flatmate, Vicki, peered cautiously into the kitchen. When she saw that I wasn't crying, she decided to try to cheer me up with her usual ridiculous platitudes. I like Vicki, I really do; I wouldn't be sharing a flat with her if I didn't, but sometimes, she drives me crazy. And she's completely bloody useless in a crisis. She began with, 'How are you feeling?' before moving on to, 'It could be worse.' Things went downhill from there.

Unable to cope with Vicki's determined cheerfulness, I used Mum as an excuse to escape into my bedroom. I took my tablet with me, propped it against the wall, and made the call home. Mum answered almost immediately, and she instantly registered the red rims around my eyes.

'Hi, Mum. I got back safely last night,' I said, trying not to burst into tears. 'Sorry, I didn't get in touch to let you know.'

Mum turned away from the screen and said, 'Out, Mike.'

'But…' I heard Dad begin.

Mum shook her head and stared at my dad with an expression I could read even though I could see little more than the back of her head. _Our daughter needs her mother_, the look said. She silently shooed Dad away. He was out of the webcam's field of vision, but in my mind's eye, I saw him shrugging worriedly, and ambling out of the living room.

'What's wrong, Annabel?' Mum asked.

She'd used my Sunday name, another indication that she recognised that this was serious. I opened my mouth and the story of my return—a day earlier than I'd told Simon—and of my deciding to surprise my boyfriend came gushing out. The tear-filled tale of Simon's infidelity was much edited, but I knew that Mum was capable of reading between the lines, she would easily fill in the gaps.

'I don't know what to do,' I admitted.

'I know how difficult it is when you fall out with your boyfriend, Anna. I still remember when Joe and I split up…' _Joe,_ I thought, _who the hell is Joe?_ I couldn't imagine Mum ever being with someone other than Dad. '…it was hard for me; I was unhappy for a few weeks, but it didn't take long for me to realise that I was better off out of it. You've found out the hard way that you can't trust Simon. If you can't trust him once, then you will never be able to trust him again. Things have changed between you, and you've got to accept that. A clean break is the best thing for you to do.'

'But Simon…' I began.

Mum sighed. 'I probably shouldn't tell you this, Anna, but I never liked him. He always seemed a bit up himself.'

'If you ever bring him back here, he'll be in trouble anyway,' Dad shouted from somewhere off screen. I should have realised that, despite being shooed from the room, he'd be listening. Mum shushed him, motioned him away, and shook her head.

'I think I'm still in love with him,' I said.

'Ah,' Mum said. She stared thoughtfully at me, and I watched as she gathered her thoughts. It was several seconds before she continued.

'Here's what I think, and please don't get upset with me. It's possible that you are, but perhaps you're simply in love with the idea of being in love with him,' Mum told me. 'You've invested a lot of time and effort in your relationship with Simon, and the thing you hate most in the world, Anna, is discovering that you've wasted your effort.'

I stared at her, shocked.

'It's true, Anna. You know it is.'

As I thought about it, I realised that she was right.

'We can advise, but we can't interfere, Anna. You're in Sheffield, and we're almost two hundred miles away. You can come back home, if you want to…'

'I'm not going to run away!' I said.

Mum smiled. 'That's my girl. Do what you think is best. Just remember, we're always here for you, and we'll respect your decision, no matter what it is.' I heard a grumble somewhere in the distance. 'We will, won't we, Mike?' she said firmly.

'I suppose…' said Dad begrudgingly.

Mum somehow managed to change the subject and got me talking about my coursework. By the time we said goodbye, I was feeling a lot better.

I'd heard the doorbell while I was talking to Mum, and I'd heard Vicki answer the door. When I re-entered the lounge, there was a massive bunch of flowers waiting for me.

'Special delivery,' said Vicki excitedly, her voice tinged with jealousy. 'The woman from the florists said that it was the biggest bouquet anyone has ever ordered from her.'

I stared at the bouquet and the message attached to it, and immediately wondered if I should reconsider my decision. Despite Mum's sensible advice, should I give him a second chance?

"I love you. Please forgive me, Simon," the card declared. There was a restaurant invitation attached to the flowers, too. Simon was offering to take me to a very expensive restaurant in Peak District.

Vicki was no help, at least not at first. I stared at the flowers, it appeared to be the entire contents of a florist's shop, wrapped in a big purple bow.

'You and Simon have been a bit up and down for a while, Anna. But you're really well suited, and I'm sure that you could still make a go of it with him,' she said earnestly.

'I suppose so…' I began uncertainly. Then she told me.

'And, after all, it isn't the first time…' Vicki added. Her tone was caring and consoling.

Although my mind was still in turmoil, the meaning of her final sentence was the killing blow, the fatal dagger strike to my heart. My uncertainty was elbowed out of the way by my anger. 'Wait… what?' I said. 'It isn't the first time? What the fuck do you mean, it isn't the first time?'

The colour drained from Vicki's face and her mouth silently opened and closed. I watched as she tried to decide what to say next.

'The truth, Vicki,' I ordered sharply.

'When he went to Kos with Pete and Matt last summer, they … met … some girls,' said Vicki, blurting out another awful truth in her panic. 'Matt told me in confidence. He made me promise not to tell anyone.' She looked fearfully into my face. Vicki keeps her promises. I'd always thought that was her great strength. 'I thought you knew, Anna. I thought he'd told you. They met three girls while they were there.'

I shook my head in despair. I was trying to forget, but her words forced the events of previous evening back into my mind.

I'd caught the tram from Meadowhall and lugged my holdall and rucksack up the hill to Simon's house. I could have phoned and asked him to collect me, but I hadn't. I'd wanted to surprise him.

And I'd surprised him all right. He was on the sofa in his living room, trousers around his ankles, and she was underneath him. At first, I was incapable of registering what I was seeing. Embarrassed, I'd even said, 'Oops, sorry,' before my shocked brain realised exactly what I was witnessing. The girl had been embarrassed, too. She couldn't look at me.

It seemed like forever, but it was probably only a fraction of a second before the reality of the situation hit, and I exploded. I screamed, swore, and broke down, all at the same time. When Simon stopped repeating 'Sorry,' over and over again, and instead tried: 'You should have phoned instead of just turning up unannounced.' I picked up an almost empty bottle of wine from the table and threw it at him. Fortunately, it missed and hit the wall.

The worst part was that I couldn't get the image of him shagging her out of my head.

'I didn't know, Vicki. But I do now! I will fucking kill him,' I said, seething. 'I hate him. He's a fucking stuck-up, self absorbed, two-timing, arrogant fucking ponce!' _And I'll still see him in lectures every day_, I realised.

'A lot of the other girls think that he's good-looking, and he's very rich,' Vicki reminded me. 'Yes, he's … made a mistake, but he i_has_/i said that he's sorry. No one has ever sent _me_ flowers like that.' She stared longingly across the room. 'He's trying to apologise.'

'Apologise! How can he possibly apologise?' I refused to allow my anger to abate. 'I caught him shagging another woman! And he has never even mentioned that holiday bird to me, either. He's a fucking two-timing fucking snooty fucking bastard. It's not a fucking second chance he wants from me, Vicki; it's a fucking third chance. And he doesn't get one of those.' I glared at her. 'Simon Faversham can take a flying fuck at the moon. I hope he crashes his fucking Audi. Fucking twat!'

'You came back home a day early,' said Vicki unthinkingly. Her face was full of panic as she tried—and failed—to calm me down.

Her words were enough to make me explode, but I bit my tongue. Jesus! My friend and flatmate could be so dim sometimes. Did she really think that it would have been okay if I hadn't found out?

'And, besides, I might be wrong about Chantelle. Maybe it was just one night, not the entire holiday,' said Vicki as she haplessly continued to pour oil, not water, onto the flames of my fury.

'Chantelle,' I said, completely losing control. 'Chan-fucking-telle! You even know her fucking name! Why the fuck didn't you fucking tell me?'

'I didn't want to upset you,' said Vicki. 'And please don't swear so much, Anna.'

'You didn't want to upset me?' I shouted. 'You've just told me that last night wasn't the first time my boyfriend cheated on me. How the fu…' Her expression stopped me in mid-flow. Vicki, bless her, was a sensitive soul, she didn't like swearing, and she hated it when bad things happened. My flatmate was close to tears, I realised. She didn't cope very well with unpleasantness. If I wasn't careful, I would end up comforting her. _This isn't her fault_, I reminded myself; _at least, not much._

I sighed. 'Sorry, Vicki. I should be shouting at him, not you. I didn't get much sleep last night, and I'm still stressing. I can't cope with this, and neither can you. You need some peace and quiet, and I need to think.' I made my decision. 'I'm going out. I don't know when I'll be back.'

There was only one place I could go to work off my anger, only one place where I could get some uninterrupted thinking time. I went to my room, pulled out a costume, a hat, and a towel, and rammed them into my sports bag.

I said my farewell with fake cheeriness to a still worried, but slightly calmer Vicki. 'See you later.' I called as I walked past the living room.

'Don't do anything silly,' she begged.

'I'm not going to drown myself,' I told her. 'I'm not even going to drown my sorrows. I'm going to tire myself out, that's all. Bye, Vicki.' I gave her a false smile and left.

The flat Vicki and I were renting was in Crookesmoor, and it was almost two miles from Pond's Forge. As I walked, I considered going to the Goodwin, to the university pool, but there was a chance I might meet someone I knew, someone who knew me, or Simon, someone who knew what had happened. I didn't want conversation or sympathy, so I headed past the university buildings, aiming for the city centre. It was a walk I hadn't done in many months.

I hadn't done much walking since I met Simon. I hadn't needed to walk. I'd bagged the rich student with the flash car and the big house his mummy and daddy had bought for him.

Anger, confusion, and fear swirled through my head as I walked. Part of me was still panicking. If I finished with him, then I wouldn't have a boyfriend. If! My God, was I that pathetic? I didn't need Simon. I didn't need anyone.

Could I ever trust him again? I knew the answer to that question: I couldn't. But that didn't matter, because it was over, wasn't it? My brain was being treacherous. I'd helped him find his house; I'd met his parents, and I'd tried to like them. We'd been together for so long.

Was he really the one? Six months earlier, I'd have said yes without hesitation. But six months before that, only a few months into our relationship, it appeared that he'd been unfaithful for the first time.

'Fuck,' I said loudly. The woman walking past me frowned in disapproval.

Why was I finding it so difficult? Everything I was feeling was Simon's fault. It was his fault that I'd been crying. It was his fault that I was unhappy. I was about halfway down Broad Lane when it began to rain. I decided to blame Simon for that, too. The wanker!

It began as a shower. But a few minutes after the first few innocent spots had spattered around me, saying "don't mind us, we're nothing to worry about", the sky rapidly darkened. I quickened my pace as the raindrops rapidly increased in both size and frequency. Soon, the water was bouncing off the pavements and gurgling down the gutters. It was October, and the rain was cold. I watched as everyone dashed for shelter, but I didn't join them. As I trudged determinedly on, the wet streets became almost deserted. I was getting soaked, but that didn't matter, because I was going to get wet soon anyway. My hair was plastered to my skull, and the rain was running down my neck. My almost knee-length sweatshirt was sodden, while my thick tights were cold and wet on my legs.

I'd wasted eighteen months of my life on a stupid boy! It i_was_/i over. I could use the water to wash him away.

I stamped in a puddle and revelled in the splash. It brought back memories of the hills of my childhood, the hills where my parents still lived. I remembered those days, and I smiled at good times, magical times. Things are so much easier when you're six, or eight, or ten. I jumped into the next puddle with both feet, making a satisfying splash, so I did the same in the next puddle, and the next.

Then Simon sneaked back into my head again. He had said that he loved me so many times, and he'd even written it on the card I'd received with the flowers. Until then, I'd always believed him when he said it. Perhaps he meant it this time, too. Perhaps this i_was_/i simply an aberration. Perhaps I should hear his side of the story; after all, I had simply exploded.

I remembered our first meeting. _'Can I borrow your lecture notes, Annabel? You know that I don't fully understand the intricacies of property law. You're so much better at that stuff than me.'_

Since then, we'd studied together almost every day._'Can you take a look at this essay for me? I think that it's okay, but…'_ He had such a nice smile, and he was polite, and he made me laugh. Should I go back and see what he had to say for himself? Was he really sorry? Was I the one being unreasonable?

Damn him! I really did need to keep away from him. Why the hell was I making excuses for him? I found another puddle, and again, I jumped into it with both feet. It was a lot deeper than I thought, and I created a huge splash.

'Thanks very much,' said a man's voice sarcastically. Because of me, he was wet up to the knees. In my distracted state, I hadn't noticed him. He had been standing in a bus shelter, hidden behind the advertisement as he waited for the rain to stop. From the rapidly approaching blue sky, I knew he wouldn't be waiting for much longer.

'Sor…' I stopped mid-stride and mid-apology and stared at him. He was tall, slim, broad-shouldered, and even-featured. His hair was a shade too dark to be called truly ginger, and his clear hazel eyes were bright and full of curiosity. I looked into his freckle-dusted face and realised that he was struggling to recognise me.

That was what gave me the advantage over him. I added the clues together. His "do I know you?" look, his hair and freckles, and those eyes; they were enough. I was suddenly certain that I was facing another stupid, hurtful, and nasty boy from my past. But that was ridiculous; it couldn't be him. Why on earth would i_he_/i be in Sheffield?

'The word you're looking for is sorry, not sor…' he told me. He was still staring inquisitively at me, and he was smiling that all-purpose "who-the-hell-are-you" smile people use when they're certain they know you, but they can't put a name to your face. I saw no reason to enlighten him.

'I am _very_ sorry for splashing you,' I said. I strode past him and continued on my way. I was approaching a junction, and as I prepared to turn the corner, I looked back at him. He was still staring at me, still trying to figure out who I was. 'Unless, of course, your name is James Sirius Potter, in which case you deserved that soaking, and lot more besides.'

He left the bus shelter and plodged through the rain after me. I quickened my pace, deliberately ignoring his calls.

'Who are you?' he shouted. 'I thought I recognised you. You obviously know me, but I can't remember where we've met.'

'Where we met doesn't matter,' I called over my shoulder. 'You've obviously forgotten me, but I'll always remember James Sirius Potter. You're just another horrible boy.'

He dashed in front of me, turned, and tried to get me to stop and talk. I was having none of it, so I dodged past him. For a second, I thought that he was going to grab my arm, but he took one look at my face and decided against it. Instead, he turned and matched his stride with mine. I quickened my pace and tried to ignore him.

'Were we at school together?' he asked. His face creased in concentration and I realised that the fact that he couldn't place me was really annoying him.

'We might have been,' I said evasively, beginning to enjoy his confusion. 'You really have no idea, do you? Please don't tell me that you've moved to Sheffield, James. The last thing I need is another fucking idiot-boy hanging around.'

'I've never been here before. I'm going to the University to visit my cousin this afternoon, and I thought that I'd take a look around the city first,' he told me. He had looked so shocked by my casual swearing that I wondered why he was prolonging the conversation.

'Rosie, Hugo, or one of the other ones?' I asked, trying to confuse him.

He burst out laughing. 'Is this some sort of wind-up?' he asked. 'If you know Rose and Hugo, then you must have been at school with me.'

'Possibly,' I admitted.

'That's a relief; why didn't you say? I've been so careful what I've been saying. I was beginning to think that you were just some random Muggle I'd met once! Who are you? Which house were you in? You're not a Gryffindor.' Then his face fell. 'You're not from the i_Prophet_/i, are you?'

By then, I'd reached Pond's Forge. As he followed me into the reception area, I turned on him.

'Muggle? Gryffindor? I'd forgotten all of the random nonsense words you used to use. You're a fucking cretin, James Potter! You haven't changed at all,' I told him. 'You're still talking shite, still telling ridiculous stories. You were exactly the same at school.'

He stared at me, and then he looked around the building as if he hadn't realised where he was. I strolled over to the reception desk.

'One student swim,' I told the receptionist, as I dripped on the floor. I flashed my student card at her, while making sure that he couldn't see it. It didn't matter, because we were standing in a swimming pool, and the location finally gave me away.

'Oh, shit,' he said. 'You're little Annie Charlton.' I saw the horror and guilt in his eyes. He stood there staring, his mouth open. He said nothing. James Potter, the boy who never shut up, was lost for words.

'Little?' I said scornfully, staring him straight in the eyes. 'I'm five foot nineten, and my name is Annabel. My friends call me Anna, and you're not my friend, little Jimmy Pee; I don't think you ever were! So you can spin on this, you arse!' I gave him the finger, turned on my heels, and headed for the stairs to the changing rooms.

'I _was_ an arse,' he said quietly. 'But that was years ago, Annie … Annabel. I was thirteen and stupid.'

'Thirteen and stupid or twenty-three and stupid—what's the difference?' I asked him.

'Ten years,' he said promptly. 'You might think that I'm still stupid, but at least Mrs Green taught me how to do my addings-up, and my take-aways. Although I'm not quite twenty-three yet.'

So, I couldn't render him speechless and sad for long. He still had a flippant answer for everything. Well, almost everything. I tried to hide my smile, strode ahead of him and dashed down the stairs to the changing rooms.

I pulled open the changing room door and pointed at the sign. 'Goodbye, James Potter,' I said. 'Women's changing! You can't come in.'

'I really am sorry,' he said as I closed the door. His face seemed to show genuine sorrow and regret, his eyes were creased in remembrance. Did he really regret the hurt he'd inflicted on me such a long time ago?

James Potter's sad face was still in my mind while I was peeling off my sodden clothes and stuffing them into a locker. The memories came flooding back.

My brother, Henry, had been James' best friend from the day they started school. They weren't even five at the time. I'd grown up with the Potters. I was younger than Al and older than Lily, fitting neatly into the school year between them.

I wondered how Al Potter was doing. He'd always been a nice little boy. He'd been quiet and gentle, not like James, or my brother Henry, or, for that matter, Lily. I would never find out, I realised with some regret, because I was certain that I'd never see James again.

I'd packed my Speedo open back kneeskin suit. Once black, it was old, chlorine faded, and past its best, but it was the one I always wore for training sessions. As I pulled it on and adjusted it, I realised that it was a long time since I'd been in a pool. Simon didn't see the point in swimming; he'd told me that I always smelled of the pool. Over the previous eighteen months, since we'd got together, I'd gone from eight hours of swimming a week to six, and then three, and then down to one. And now, I realised, I hadn't been in the water for three months.

Simon had persuaded me to take up squash instead. He'd had years of practice at the game, and he regularly and invariably trounced me. I got fed up, so I'd taken lessons. Finally, after our second year exams, a week before I went home, I'd managed to beat him. That was when I discovered what a bad loser he was. He barely spoke to me for days afterwards.

I silently cursed Simon. Tucking my hair into my white cap and pulling on my goggles, I strode out onto the poolside and looked around for a quiet lane.

There was only one person in the backstroke lane, an elderly woman who was at the far side of the pool, so I decided to warm up with a few lengths on my back. I counted my strokes; I had no alternative, as they don't put the turn flags up for public swim sessions. But my strokes were short and I rolled into my turn much too early. I was forced to fly-kick my way to the wall in order to tumble.

When I broke surface, I concentrated on increasing the power of my pulls. I was woefully out of practice. As I stared at the ceiling and felt the water surging around me, I fantasised about setting fire to Simon's car, and about kicking him in the balls. As I searched for another ignominy to heap on him, an idea hit me. I wondered what it would be like to immerse both Simon and James Potter, in a vat of itching powder. I gleefully imagined their skin turning red and erupting in painful boils, and I hit my hand on the poolside. My angry thoughts of revenge had obviously increased my backstroke speed.

Treading water, I looked at the back of my hand. It was tingling, and there was no doubt that I'd have a bruise. Deciding that I'd had enough of the backstroke, I ducked under the lane rope and joined the freestyle swimmers. As I pulled myself through the water, my confusion and anger finally began to fade.

I would be single. I could be selfish. I could eat when and where I wanted; I could swim whenever I wanted. I could be Anna, not Simon's girlfriend. I could decide what to do. I could go out clubbing and get drunk, or I could stay at home with a nice cup of tea and a good book.

Ponds Forge is a fifty metre pool, but for some reason, they usually put the lane ropes in from side to side, making it instead a very wide twenty-five metre pool. As I swam, I slipped naturally into my old training routine, choosing one of the toughest, fifteen hundred metres freestyle. I ploughed steadily up and down, feeling better with every metre I swam. At least at the beginning of my swim, I did.

Every hundred metres, I checked my split times on the clock, and after the first four hundred metres, I began my practice drills. It was amazing how easily I slipped back into my old training routine, and it was horrifying how uncoordinated I was. I did okay for a while, but my stamina had gone. While I was concentrating on my drills, my pace slowed dramatically.

I always attempted to finish a session by sprinting the final two hundred. When I finally reached that point, I tried, but I could barely pick up my pace. I was running on annoyance at my lack of fitness, determination to reach the target I'd set myself, and spite. This was definitely Simon's fault. Why had he persuaded me to stop swimming? When I'd started going out with him, I'd been close to making the university team. Now, it would take me months to regain that level of fitness. Squash simply wasn't the same.

When I finally finished my stroke was all to hell, and I was so knackered that I could barely pull myself from the pool. I realised that I'd be stiff and sore the following day. If I was going to get back in shape, I needed to get back to my old training routine. I staggered towards the changing room, feeling very light-headed and a little faint. I'd been stupid; I knew I wasn't fit, and yet I'd pushed myself too hard. I needed to take it easy, to build slowly. I should have brought myself something to drink, too.

It wasn't until I walked into the changing room that I realised I'd forgotten more than a drink; I'd brought neither shower gel nor shampoo with me, either. Fortunately, someone had discarded an almost empty shower gel in one corner of the showers. By prising off the top and holding the container under the shower head, I managed to get a pathetic amount of lather into my hair. I wasn't really clean, but I'd managed to remove most of the chlorine from my hair. As I stood under the shower, I forgot all about Simon and instead remembered James Potter.

I remembered Al first. I could still see his horror-filled face. It was the last thing I saw before my eyelids swelled to the point where I was blind. The last thing I remember hearing was James' pathetic excuse: 'It was only a joke,' as his extremely angry father shouted louder than I'd ever heard him shout before.

It was my eleventh birthday, and all of my school friends were there. It was Easter, so Al and James, both back home from their public school, had come with Lily and their parents. James, tall, good-looking and thirteen, had taken me aside and given me "a special present for a special girl". I'd been giddily excited when I'd unwrapped it. According to the label, it was "diamond dust" body sparkle, lipstick, and mascara. The pretty little girl in the picture on the box was sparkling like a vampire in the sunlight (I know—I was eleven—that's my only excuse). I had dashed up to my room and applied the stuff liberally. Soon, my arms and face were sparkling like the girl in the photo. I'd only just got back downstairs when whatever James had put in it started to work. My skin came up in an extremely itchy rash, and my eyelids and lips developed huge and painful boils. I began to scream, but the boils on my lips soon made that impossible, and all I could do was whimper in pain.

I can't really remember much after that. I know that Mum carefully carried me upstairs, and James' mum followed, apologising profusely as she tried to help Mum wash the stuff off me.

That was the beginning and end of my birthday party. The guests were all sent home. Mr Potter had taken his crying kids away and returned, remarkably quickly, with an antidote. He had arrived just in time, as, after half an hour under the shower, I was still mewling in agony and Mum was about to take me to hospital.

Mrs Potter helped Mum to apply the antidote. The cream had worked almost immediately on the painful boils on my eyes and lips. The disfiguring rash on my arms and face, however, had taken a lot longer to fade. I spent the evening of my birthday standing in the bathroom in my underwear, trying not to scratch my blotchy red skin, and crying. I refused to leave the house for a week, until every last blemish had gone.

Mr and Mrs Potter tried to apologise. Mr Potter told Dad that he was grounding James until the summer holidays. Nevertheless, my dad never really forgave James. He refused to allow Henry to visit his friend over the summer holidays. Two or three years earlier, Henry would have protested about that. But by then neither James nor Al, were at Middle School. The Potter boys were both attending a private school in Scotland and, as a consequence of their separation, Henry and James were slowly drifting apart. Henry had a new best friend at Middle School, and James had one in his new school, too.

Mum and Mrs Potter had been friends for years, but my eleventh birthday party almost broke them apart. They made up, but it was never the same, and we slowly stopped seeing them. When Lily, too, went off to private school, the Potters moved back to London. They apparently visited their country home occasionally during the summer, but we never saw them again.

Lost in memories, I'd been vigorously towelling myself dry. My skin was tingling from my efforts. Cursing James Potter, I began to get dressed. When I pulled my clothes from the locker, I was astonished to discover that they were remarkably dry and even almost warm to the touch. It was as if they'd been freshly laundered. Surely the changing room wasn't that warm?

I packed my bag and considered my options. _What now?_ I wondered. I was absolutely knackered, and my legs were like jelly. I didn't feel like walking home. Not only was it a long walk, and mostly uphill, but I still wasn't ready to face Vicki. I checked my watch—it was only eleven in the morning. I picked up my bag and headed up the stairs, still uncertain where I was going.

When I reached the top of the stairs James Potter was leaning against a pillar in the reception area. He'd obviously been waiting for me. I wondered if he'd been on the spectator balcony, watching me in the water. He bounced rapidly towards me, smiling that silly smile of his and looking like a gawky teenager, not a man of twenty-two.


	2. Persistance

**Persistance**

'Hello, Annabel,' said James cheerfully. 'I've…'

'I thought I'd told you to fuck off,' I said, with as much venom as my tired mind and body could muster.

'I will,' he said, chastened but still determinedly upbeat. 'But not until you drink one of these.'

He thrust two bottles at me; one was a bright blue energy drink, the other was a bottle of water. I was surprised by his thoughtfulness, but I wasn't prepared to give him an easy time.

'If you think that I'm _ever_ going to accept another gift from you, you're an even bigger wanker than I thought you were,' I told him. I was elated to watch him deflate in front of my eyes. I'd managed to puncture him, and suddenly, his bounce was gone. He stood flat and lifeless, still holding the plastic bottles like some sort of offering.

'I deserved that,' he said.

'Yeah, so fuck off,' I told him. I watched him wince as I swore once again, but he didn't give up.

'Would it help to persuade you if I drank some first?' he asked. 'You've swum yourself to exhaustion, Annabel, and you didn't take a drink onto poolside with you. Hydration, remember? That's what Mr Fox, and your mum, used to say.'

I was startled by his sudden naming of our old swimming coach, but I rallied quickly. 'It's none of your business what I do, Potter. So why don't you just fuck off and leave me alone?' I asked, making him wince again.

'Because of your face,' he said quietly. 'Because of the look you gave me when you recognised me. It was—I didn't like it—splashing me wasn't punishment enough, that was obviious—I really hurt you, didn't I?'

Astonished, I nodded.

'Why did you do it?' I said, taking the opportunity to ask him the question I'd wanted answering for years.

'I made the stuff myself. I wanted to do something to impress my Uncle George. I needed to test it, but Al and Lily were always too suspicious of me, and so was everyone at school.' As he stared sadly into my face, his eyes seemed to be focussed on the past; it was as if he was seeing me as a screaming eleven-year-old.

'You were an easy target, no other reason,' he admitted. Remorse was visible in the corners of his eyes and I could see it creeping across his face. It appeared that the memories were torturing him, and I wondered if I could find the right words to actually make him cry.

'Pathetic, wasn't I?' he asked.

'Yes,' I told him.

He nodded in sad and silent agreement. I simply glared at him, enjoying his discomfort. I watched this knuckles whiten as he clenched the bottles tightly. He slumpled and squirmed uncomfortably under my unforgiving gaze, and eventually continued.

'I'd be lying to you if I said that I've been wracked with guilt for nine years, Annabel. To be honest, I'd almost forgotten it, forgotten you, I'd even almost forgotten Henry. But—like I said—the expression on your face after you'd accidentally splashed me; bloody hell that worried me. I had no idea who you were, but you'd obviously recognised me, and you really hated me. It wasn't until we got here, and I finally figured out who you were, that I finally understood why. I'm really sorry, Annabel.'

I stared at him. James Potter was apologising to me, really apologising. I tried to take pleasure from it, but, so many years after the event, there was little comfort to be had.

'I was punished, you know,' James told me. 'At the time, I thought Dad was being so unreasonable, so did Mum. They argued about it. Mum thought that Dad was being much too hard on me.'

'Punished?' I asked.

'I was in the school … hockey team. Dad took away my stick and wrote to the Headmistress telling her that I was not allowed to play. I missed the last game of the year and my house team lost. The rest of the team hated me for it. They all blamed me, but I blamed Dad. I shouldn't have; I deserved it.'

'Good,' I said harshly. I tried to harden my heart. But James was a lost and sad little boy. I had forced him to confront something he'd forgotten. If he was faking his remorse, he was doing an extremely good job of it. He looked so ashamed of himself that I had to force myself not to step forwards and hug him.

'I stood and watched you swimming, Annie,' he admitted. 'You've been out of the water for a long time, haven't you? It's obvious from your stroke. And you set yourself a punishing target. I lost count; what did you do, fifteen hundred?'

I nodded.

'You've done a lot of exercise, a lot more than you should have, I suspect. Now drink something. Replenish those fluids. It isn't poisoned or anything. Watch!' he said.

He opened both bottles. Upending the energy drink first, he tipped some of the blue liquid into his mouth, and grimaced. 'That is truly horrible,' he said. He then did the same with the water. 'Choose one, or take both, but please drink something,' he begged.

I took the water from him. 'You can drink that,' I told him.

He shook his head. 'It's vile; I'd rather not,' he said.

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him.

'Ah, payback time, nine years later,' he said. He gave me a rueful smile, shrugged in resignation, wrinkled his nose, and took three huge gulps. When he stopped and pulled a disgusted face, the bottle was half-empty. 'That's even worse than a Gurdyroot infusion.'

'Gurdyroot?' I asked, sighing at his use of yet another nonsense word.

He shrugged and smiled. 'I don't suppose you remember my aunt Luna?' he asked.

'Of course I remember her. No one who's ever met your "Aunt Luna" could possibly forget her, could they?' I said. 'She wasn't really your aunt, just a friend of your mum and dad. Blonde hair, staring eyes, completely bonkers, and absolutely no dress sense,' I smiled at the memory of the eccentric and flamboyant woman.

'That's her,' he said, laughing. 'She hasn't changed. I have no idea what's in Aunt Luna's Gurdyroot infusion. She claims it's good for you, but it's been our measure of nasty tastes for years.'

I drank the water he'd given me. I'd meant to sip it daintily, but he was right. I should have taken a drink onto the poolside. I soon found that I'd finished it.

'Want another one?' he asked. 'I'll buy one for you. I'll even drink another one of these, if you insist. He waved the half empty bottle of blue stuff at me. 'Or would you rather have a cuppa? I would love a cuppa. Tea might wash away this vile taste.'

James was a remorseful puppy, begging for forgiveness. I no longer wanted to swear at him, but I had no idea what I did want from him.

'I'll pay,' he offered. 'How's Henry? How are your parents? I'd like to know.'

I was overcome with curiosity myself. I wanted to know about Al and Lily. I looked over to the café and was suddenly ravenous. I hadn't eaten since the sandwich I'd had on the Supercoach from Newcastle the previous afternoon.

'Earl Grey tea, no milk, no sugar, and a bacon and egg butty with brown sauce,' I ordered.

At least breakfast would keep me away from my flat for a while longer. I certainly didn't feel at all guilty about letting him buy me breakfast. There were a lot of ways I could make him pay for what he'd done, and one of them was to make him literally pay.

'Does anyone actually put milk or sugar in Earl Grey?' he asked, shuddering at the idea. He stared into my eyes, looking concerned. 'No pre-swim breakfast?'

I shook my head.

'No breakfast, and angry enough to swim yourself to exhaustion,' he observed thoughtfully. He stared into my face, and I found myself caught in his gaze. His eyes were bright hazel; there were flashes of gold in them, where the green segued seamlessly into the brown. I could see him thinking, and I heard him sigh in relief.

'It's more than me, isn't it? I hope that you don't think I'm big-headed. I knew you were angry, and I thought that I was the reason behind all of your anger. I'm not, am I? There's something else bothering you, and I'm simply the person you could vent your spleen upon. I suppose that I should be grateful.' He tried a cautious smile. 'At least you didn't take it out on someone who didn't deserve it. Do you want to talk about it?'

'No.' I shook my head again. 'You can tell me all about Lily and Al, especially Al. I always thought that he was much nicer than you.'

James chuckled. 'He was. He probably still is,' he admitted. 'We can catch up, can't we?'

I nodded, and staggered. Finally, my sleepless night, and my exhausting swim were catching up with me.

'You should sit down,' he said.

I took the energy drink from his hands and walked over to an empty table. Taking the chair facing the counter, I watched as James walked over to the self-service counter, picked up a tray, and began to fill my order. Two girls at an adjacent table were also assessing him. They obviously liked what they saw. James was two or threea couple of inches taller than me and smartly dressed. He was wearing charcoal grey trousers and a pale blue short-sleeved shirt. He moved with a confident grace, and I had to admit that he was pleasing to the eye. As he ordered, James said something to the plump middle-aged lady behind the counter, and she laughed.

'Brown or white bap?' he shouted across to me.

'Brown, of course,' I said. 'It's the healthy option.' His face creased into the brightest of smiles.

As I sat, I wondered what I'd achieved with my swim. I ached everywhere, inside and out, but I had accomplished something, I now knew that I was definitely going to finish with Simon. I was single.

I took a sip of the energy drink. James was right; it was a sticky glucose and sugar drink of the sort you could tell was rotting your teeth with every sip. 'I'd rather have an Irn Bru,' I muttered to myself, but I was so thirsty that I finished it anyway. As I examined the empty bottle, I realised that it was the brand I'd always insisted on drinking at the junior swimming competitions we'd attended. At one time I'd actually liked this stuff.

I stared curiously at James as he pushed the tray along to the till. He'd never appeared to pay much attention to me at the competitions. I'd sat with the girls, and he'd sat with the boys. Perhaps his choice of drink was mere coincidence.

Whatever James said when he paid made the checkout woman smile, too. When he turned to face me, his demeanour changed. Balancing the laden tray on one hand, James minced over to the table, every inch of him exuding the style of a waiter in a very posh restaurant.

'Your breakfast, Modom,' he said through pursed lips. 'One bacon and egg _butty_, in a very healthy brown bap, and a pot of Earl Grey's finest tea.' He identified each item as he placed them in front of me, still keeping the tray balanced on one hand as he did so.

'Thank you,' I said politely.

He placed another pot of tea in front of the chair opposite mine and sat.

'You've worked as a waiter,' I told him.

'For a few months, I've worked in a lot of places for a few months. They always find me out, eventually,' he admitted. 'Shall I pour? You can't leave Earl Grey to stew; it ruins the flavour.'

I nodded, because I was busy eating the butty. As he poured the tea, I bit into the bun and burst the egg. A mix of yolk and brown sauce dribbled onto my chin.

'I forgot to get us serviettes,' he said. He was on his feet instantly.

He grabbed at least half-a-dozen serviettes from the dispenser. The thirteen-year-old James I remembered wasn't this thoughtful. I was surprised, but also reminded of my useless big brother, an immature fool until he got his first job, and then, suddenly, Henry was Mr Sensible; he'd even started saving.

James handed me one of the serviettes. I took it gratefully and concentrated on chewing the large bite of sandwich while wiping my chin.

'You've grown up,' he said, pouring his own tea.

'That's what happens,' I told him. 'We all get older. Mum was fifty in March. We had a big birthday party for her.' _And I took Simon with me, and he met Mum and Dad, and all of their relatives and friends, and he's in pretty much every photograph,_ I thought gloomily.

'Cheer up, Annie. Fifty isn't old,' said James. He grinned. 'At least, that's what my Aunt Fleur told everyone on her last birthday.'

'I suppose,' I said, not bothering to correct him about the reason for my despondency. I tried to change the subject. 'Do you still swim?'

'I stopped swimming for a few years when I went to school, but I started training again about five years ago. It's the only thing I haven't given up on after a few months,' he admitted. 'I go swimming four nights a week, although I joined a triathlon club, not a swimming club.'

'I've thought about that option myself,' I admitted. 'But I'm not much of a runner.'

'Cycling's my weak link,' said James. We talked about sports until I'd finished the butty, and then James asked the inevitable question. 'How is Henry?'

'He was driving Mum and Dad crazy for a while,' I said. 'He didn't do as well as he should have at school, and in the end he simply stopped going. Mum and Dad were furious until he got a job; he's working in a Nissan Dealership. It turns out that he's more hands-on than academic, and he really loves his job. What about Al, and Lily, and Rosie and Hugo, for that matter?'

'Al's working for Dad, and so is Hugo. I can't say more than that. Official Secrets Act, remember?'

I nodded. James' dad had a job in National security. Counter-terrorism, so far as I could remember. It was all very secret and mysterious.

'Al's got a girlfriend; she's called Violet, and they seem to be pretty serious. They've been together for years, since Vi was fifteen, in fact. Lily's living in Wales, on Anglesea. Unlike me, she stuck with … hockey, and she plays for a local team. She's just got herself a new boyfriend, Emrys Jones. Dad doesn't know about him yet. It's going to be fun when he finds out.

Rose is the reason I'm here. She's at the University of Sheffield. She got her degree at Warwick—maths, but she's moved up here to do a Doctorate. Don't ask me any more than that; it's something to do with unreal and imaginary numbers, string theory and quantum mechanics. She says it's the mathematics of how impossible things happen. Her mum's very excited by it.'

We talked for over an hour, about friends and family and what they, and we, were doing. James had been through a string of jobs—"drifting", he admitted. But he believed that he had finally found his vocation. He was working as a journalist, a serious journalist, he assured me. He was investigating a miscarriage of justice, he said. That was when I admitted that I was doing a law degree, and that I hoped to specialise in human rights law.

I was in mid-flow when one of the café staff cleared the table and began scrubbing it clean despite our presence.

Looking around, I realised that the place was full. There were were no empty tables and we we'd been finished for a while. As we weren't eating or drinking; they were trying to tell us that they wanted our table.

'We'd better go,' I said.

'Okay,' he said. 'Are you doing anything now?'

I shook my head.

'I've never been to Sheffield before. Would you like to be my guide to the city?'

'Why not?' I agreed. Anything was better than returning It was a reason for me to stay away fromto my the flat, and James seemed to be genuinely interested in my opinions on the European Convention on Human Rights.

We walked and talked for over an hour. I took him to the Peace Garden and the Winter Garden, and at a little after one o'clock, he bought me a salad lunch in Leopold Square. That was when he told me about Amy, the girl he'd split up with a month earlier, and that was when I told him about Simon. He was incensed on my behalf.

'If you were my girl…' he began angrily.

'Aren't you supposed to be meeting Rose for lunch?' I remembered, interrupting him.

'Damn, I'm late! I'll put her off,' he said, pulling out a mirror-fronted wood-effect phone from his pocket. I'd never seen anything like it. He simply touched the screen and said, 'Rose.'

'One o'clock, you told me, James,' Rose's voice carried across the table. 'You promised! You are without a doubt the least reliable…'

'Something's come up, Rose,' he interrupted. 'You'll never guess who I've just met.'

I urgently shook my head, and then wondered why I didn't want him to tell her. He touched the screen again and pressed the phone to his ear. I could no longer hear Rose's side of the conversation, but I listened to his side and smiled.

'I'm not telling you,' he said. 'You'll have to guess.'

'No, I'm not telling,' he said, grinning at me and winking. 'Okay, she's a girl, and she's at Sheffield University, just like you.'

'No, she's not doing Maths.'

'You have?'

'You are?'

'Well, that's all right, then, isn't it? I've done the right thing for once. You really don't want your daftest cousin playing gooseberry, do you, Rosie-posy?'

'Only third daftest? Who?'

'Okay, I'll concede the gold medal to Louis, but Lucy?'

'Did she really?' James laughed.

'Is he good-looking?'

'Well, you enjoy yourself, Rosie-posy. I'll see you for lunch at Grandma's, a week tomorrow, and if you're nice to me, I won't drop you in it with your dad. Bye.' He put the phone back into his pocket and grinned at me.

'Rose has been asked out to lunch herself, by a fellow student,' said James. 'He's a physicist who is working with her tutor. He's approaching her theories from a testable, practical perspective.'

'And _is_ he good-looking?' I asked.

'He's a genius, apparently,' said James. 'And that is the only thing which matters to Rose, which is probably just as well. I think she's pleased that I've cancelled. After all, three's a crowd, and I'm really very good at cramping her style.'

'And Al's, too, I imagine,' I said.

James laughed. 'Not any more,' he said. 'These days, he just frowns at me and says, "Oh, grow up, James". So does Vi—his girlfriend, and she's only eighteen!'

James' face had changed and his voice had deepened as he quoted his brother. I could see the little Al I remembered in the way James had reset his shoulders and subtly changed his posture.

'Good for him,' I said. 'You were really quite horrible to him when we were little, you know. You and Henry were always picking on him because he was always so friendly towards us girls.'

'If I'd known you were going to grow up tall, blonde, and gorgeous, I'd have been a lot friendlier to you, too,' said James.

I stared at him. He was looking at me hopefully, waiting for me to accept his compliment.

'So, by that logic, it's okay to be horrible to ugly people, is it?' I asked.

'That's not what I meant,' he protested.

'It's what you said,' I told him. I stared into his face with what I hoped was a concerned look. 'If that's what you think, then you can't complain when I tell you that's a really bad case of acne you've got, ginge!'

James laughed. 'That's me told,' he admitted. 'You're right, sorry. I shouldn't be horrible to anyone, unless they deserve it. And you didn't. Will you ever forgive me?'

His eyes were bright and hopeful. A middle-aged woman sitting diagonally opposite me, and who had been shamelessly listening in to our conversation, caught my eye and nodded.

'I'll think about it,' I said, trying not to smile.

'That's a start,' he said, sounding extremely pleased.

I sipped my tea and stared at him. We were sharing a pot of Darjeeling which we'd agreed was of dubious quality. I said nothing.

'What shall we do this afternoon, Annie?' he asked.

'What do you want to do?' I said.

'I'm happy simply enjoying your company,' he said, and despite myself, I believed him. 'How are your parents?'

As I began to tell him, he signalled the waitress for the bill. I was beginning to feel guilty about letting him pay, but James ignored my protests and handed over the cash.

We walked out from the city centre, past the Faculty of Law, and out to the Botanical Gardens. We had almost reached the Gardens when I realised that he was carrying my sports bag for me. He refused to hand it over.

'I've carried it this far,' he told me, and I can see the sign ahead. 'What's the point in me handing it over for the final few yards?'

'It would make me feel better,' I said.

'Really?' he asked. 'Why not look on it as an additional punishment for me?'

I made a grab for the bag, but he moved it away, and I found myself dancing around him, chasing my stolen possessions in exactly the same way I'd done when I was little. I stopped, folded my arms, stuck out my bottom lip, and stamped my foot. They were the actions of a six-year-old Annie, and the effect on James was instant.

'Sorry, Annie,' he said. He held out the bag.

'Changed my mind,' I said with mock petulance. 'You can carry it for me.'

We stared at each other. I'm certain that, like me, he was remembering the good times we'd shared. He burst out laughing, and so did I. We were still laughing when we walked into the gardens, where we found a bench in the sunshine and talked and talked. We talked about his parents, and mine, and about our hopes for the future.

The afternoon flew over, and we were still talking when a man came up and politely reminded us that the park was closing. I checked my watch. It was almost six. Where had the day gone?

'I really should go home,' I said.

'Will you let me take you to dinner tonight?' he asked. 'I'll take you somewhere nice. You'll have to tell me where, of course.'

'No,' I said, despite the fact that I really wanted to say yes.

'Why not?' he demanded.

'I'm not dressed for it,' I said, grasping for an excuse.

'You're going home; you can get changed,' he told me. 'If if you want me to leave you alone, you can simply tell me to eff off.'

'I don't want you to "eff off", as you so politely put it,' I said, giving in to the inevitable.

'Great,' he said. 'So where are we dining tonight, Miss Charlton?'

'Ms Charlton,' I said, correcting him. 'I know a really good little family run pizza place, Mr Potter.'

'James,' he said.

I sighed. 'Okay, you can call me Anna,' I told him.

'I'd rather call you Annie,' he said. 'You'll always be Annie to me. Shall I wait in the city centre for you, or…' he tailed off hopefully.

'This way,' I said. We strolled up the hill towards my flat.

'We could go swimming together,' suggested James. 'We could go to early morning training, just like when we were little. It would do us both good.'

'Don't be stupid, James. You live in London,' I told him.

'I'll move,' he said. 'Have you got a spare room?'

'No,' I said.

'I could share yours,' he said.

'James Potter! What sort of girl do you take me for?' I asked.

'A girl I want to get to know a lot better,' he said.

'You are an idiot,' I said dismissively.

'I can be that, too, if you want me to be,' he said.

As we approached the flat, I saw movement in my bedroom window. That was when I noticed Simon's car. He was parked directly outside my front door. James seemed to sense my sudden tension.

'Problem?' he asked.

'Simon's car,' I said. As I was pointing it out, the front door opened and Simon came out. He strode rapidly down the street to meet us.

'What do you want me to do?' asked James. 'I can vanish if you want.'

'No,' I said. 'Just be yourself, James.'

I stared coolly at Simon as he approached. I felt nothing for him. He was pathetic. He was my past.

'Anna, darling, we've been so worried,' he began. 'Vicki didn't know where you'd gone, and you left your phone in the living room. Are you all right? Who is this?' Simon looked nervous and worried, and extremely curious about James.

'Me? James Potter,' said James, holding out a hand which Simon didn't take. 'I'm an old friend of Annie's. I've known her since she was knee-high and I was once best mates with her big brother. I accidentally met her outside the pool. Twas just a huge co-inky-dink, honest.'

I snorted with laughter. I hadn't heard James' mispronunciation of the word "coincidence" for a long time, but it brought more memories flooding back.

'We've been catching up on old times,' explained James.

'James, this is my _ex_-boyfriend, Simon Faversham,' I said. Simon's face fell. 'James is taking me out for a meal tonight, Simon. I'd be grateful if you could collect your stuff from my room. I'll be round to get my things tomorrow.'

'But…' Simon tried.

James silenced him with a glance. 'Best do it now, Simon,' he suggested.

'I hope that you're very happy together,' he snapped.

Simon glared at us, turned on his heels, and strode back to the house.

'So do I,' said James. He turned to face me, and gently placed his hands on my shoulders. 'If this was a film, this would be the part where I kiss you,' he added.

'Unless it's a tragedy, not a rom-com, in which case this is where I turn and walk away,' I told him. I hadn't showered properly, I suddenly realised. I'd spent the day with James Potter, but my hair was a mess, and I smelled of swimming pool.

'I think it's worth the risk,' he said, sliding his arms down my back and bringing his lips close to mine.

My choice was simple: stop him; or throw my arms around him.

I didn't stop him.


	3. Anxiety

**Anxieties**

'Are you sure you don't want to come in?' I asked.

James shook his head.

'Thanks for the offer, Annie, but I really should be going. I was supposed to meet Rosie eight hours ago,' he told me. 'And eight hours is a lateness record, even for me. I really should call on her before it gets too late, even if it's only to apologise.'

He tried to look remorseful, but failed.

'You should have abandoned me, instead,' I said.

James shook his head firmly. 'I can see Rosie anytime, but I haven't seen you for years. Thanks for a great day. That was one of the best pizzas I've ever had.' He reached forwards and gently brushed my cheek with his fingers. 'I've…' He hesitated, and looked into my face, an anxious look in his hazel eyes. His next, nervous, words tumbled out with surprising speed. 'I've enjoyed catching up with you, and I've had a really good day. Can I see you again tomorrow?'

I was about to say yes, but we were standing outside the door to my flat, and over James's shoulder I could see a curtain twitching in the bay window. My flatmate was watching concernedly.

The sight of Vicky's face brought me back down to earth with a bump. I'd spent an entire day, or at least more than twelve hours, with James Potter, and it had been wonderful. Nevertheless, I sternly reminded myself that I was still emotional, and very tired. My sensible side struggled to make its voice heard: _you need time to think_, it reminded me. For once, I listened to it.

'Not tomorrow,' I told him. 'I've got a lot to do.'

His face crumpled into despondency, and I took pity on him.

'The day after,' I suggested. 'Saturday, if that's okay with you. I just need to sort stuff out, okay?'

'What time on Saturday, and where?' he asked.

I shrugged. I hadn't given any thought to the when; I'd simply wanted to say yes. 'Some time in the afternoon,' I suggested, pushing any thought of meeting him in the morning to the back of my mind and continuing my attempt to play it cool, to appear ambiguous and aloof.

'Ten past twelve,' he said promptly, betraying a keenness which I didn't expect, but which made my heart do somersaults.

I tried to hide my elation. 'Okay,' I told him.

'I … er … I own a motorbike,' he said cautiously. 'We could go for a ride somewhere, if…'

'Only if you have a spare helmet,' I told him, as my heart skipped. 'Mine is at home.'

'You have your own helmet?' he asked, attempting to outgrin the Cheshire cat. 'Wow! That's great. Can you ... do you ride a bike?'

'I've passed my test,' I said.

'Perfect, yeah, er, great, excellent. Saturday, at ten past twelve, I won't forget,' he promised, bouncing excitedly on his toes. 'I'll just come here, okay?'

'Yeah, that'll be great. D'you want my mobile number?' I asked. As I spoke, my mind flew back to the only call he'd made all day. 'That reminds me, what make of phone do you have? It looked weird, more like a small wooden mirror than a smartphone. You could give me your number too, just in case something crops up.'

For some reason my request worried him. 'Saturday,' he said evasively. 'I'll give you my number on Saturday.'

I was about to protest, but he grabbed my waist and pulled me in for a kiss so passionate that it dispelled any worries I had. Any treacherous thoughts about his reluctance to provide me with his number, or the whirlwind of a day I'd had, fled from my brain. It was much too busy processing the sensation of being in his arms.

When he finally released me, we were both panting. Despite his initial refusal, I was very tempted to again invite him into the flat. A small but rapidly increasing part of my mind wanted to ask him to stay for the night. It was probably fortunate that, before I could catch enough breath to speak, he turned and strode off down the street. He gave me a cheery wave, and called, 'See you Saturday, Annabel-Anna-Annie.'

I had barely managed to gasp, 'Bye, James,' before he had walked swiftly down the street, turned onto the main road, and disappeared.

As I looked at the corner where he'd vanished, my mind began to spin. In the space of little more than twenty-four hours, my world had changed. As I stared down the street I realised that I still knew next to nothing about James. He knew where I lived, and what I was doing at University. What did I know? I could probably find his cousin Rosie, but apart from that—I had no address, no phone number, nothing. If he didn't arrive on Saturday, I might never see him again.

I was still staring anxiously after him when my front door opened, and Vicky peered out at me.

'Who _was_ that?' she asked.

'That was James Sirius Potter,' I told her.

'Sirius?' she queried. 'What sort of a name is Sirius?'

'His brother is called Albus,' I said, 'Albus S-s-something, I don't think I ever found out what the "S" stood for. Are you okay, Vicky? You look worried.'

'Simon has been back, about an hour ago, while you and …James… were at Ticino's,' she told me. My flatmate was unable to look me in the eyes, so was staring at my knees as she spoke. 'He arrived with a big black bin-bag. He said… He said that it's got all your stuff in it, and that there is no need for you to call at his place to collect anything.'

I shrugged. I'd left some clothes and some of my course notes at Simon's house, if he'd delivered them to me, then I wouldn't need to see him until our third year started in four weeks time.

'What else did he say?' I asked.

'He called you… He called you some very rude names, and he wasn't very complimentary about James, either.'

'What, _exactly_ did he call James and me?' I asked.

Vicky's head drooped even lower, and her voice dropped to a whisper. 'He said that James was a smarmy chancer who was…' she lowered her voice, 'trying to get into your knickers.'

'I'd probably have let him, if he'd tried,' I said, surprising myself with my confession. 'What about me?'

'He, er, he called you a two-timing slut,' she told my feet.

I laughed, alarming Vicky, and even startling myself. My laughter caused her to raise her head and I saw the anxiety on her face. She thought that I was about to have hysterics again, but I was surprisingly untroubled by what she'd told me.

'That remark simply shows what a two-faced bastard he is,' I said. 'Fucking hell, Vicky, twenty-four hours ago I walked in on slimy Simon—the man I've been with for eighteen months—shagging another girl. This morning I met a boy I hadn't seen since I was eleven, and he was nice enough to let me take my anger out on him. And he listened to me ranting and swearing and complaining about my two-timing twat of an ex-boyfriend. Okay, I gave James a kiss or two, but I haven't done more than that. But even if I had, Simon did it first.' I stopped, because I realised that my protestations were unnecessary, and beginning to sound like self-justification.

Vicky was watching me closely, and a little suspiciously. 'You seem a lot happier and more relaxed than you were when you left this morning,' she told me. 'I'm really glad, Anna, because I was worried about you. If you haven't… I mean, what on earth have you and this James Potter character been doing?'

'Talking, and listening,' I said. I grinned as Vicky continued to look sceptical. 'I haven't spent the day in a hotel room with him, if that's what Simon has been insinuating,' I sighed, yawned and stretched. 'Fuck knows what he'll tell people, but at the moment I don't care. I think I need a cuppa.'

'Shall I put the kettle on?' Vicki asked. 'I'm quite capable of filling it with fresh water. Or would you rather I left even that job to you?'

'You can put the kettle on while I nip to the loo, Vicky,' I said. 'But I'll make the tea. It's time for a Ceylon Orange Pekoe, I think. Would you care to join me?'

'Yes, please,' she said. 'Do you want to talk?'

'I think that I do, yes,' I told her as I followed her into the flat. 'I should really tell somebody my version of events.' As we strolled down the hall past the living room and through the kitchen, I left her running the tap, as I headed for the bathroom beyond.

By the time I'd finished my ablutions the kettle was approaching its second boiling.

'I've rinsed the pot once already, and it's full of boiling water,' said Vicky nervously. She knows how precious I am about my tea. She'd pulled out the correct caddy, and set two fine china mugs on the tray, too.

'Thanks, Vicky,' I said. 'Perfect, in fact.'

As I emptied the pot, prised open the caddy, and carefully measured out the aromatic leaves, I gave Vicky a weary, but grateful smile. I had just scooped the leaves into the pot when the kettle boiled. Pouring the water over the leaves, I inhaled the aroma and placed the lid on the pot. As I picked up the tray, Vicky moved ahead of me and opened the door to our living room. The tiny room was made smaller by the fact that every flat surface was covered in flowers.

'It seemed a shame to let them go to waste,' Vicky told me. 'But I'll throw them out if you want.'

I shook my head. My flatmate had obviously been very busy with the enormous bouquet Simon had sent me that morning.

'No need for that. The flowers simply show what a fucking smarmy twat he is,' I said. 'What did he think would happen?' I lowered my voice and tried to mimic Simon's southern accent. 'My girlfriend arrived back a day early and caught me in flagrante delicto—I know what I'll do—I'll buy her flowers, and she'll forgive me and everything will be okay again.' I returned to my normal voice. 'He's a total wanker. But they are nice flowers, and I like the new vases. Good work, Vicky.'

We owned two vases, and the sheer number of flowers Simon had sent me was enough for—I counted up the make-shift vases—nine. It seemed that Vicky had used every receptacle she could find. There was: a coffee mug whose handle had been broken off; an empty instant coffee jar; and various cook-in-sauce jars which she must have rescued from our recycling bin.

'Thanks, Anna,' said Vicki, smiling. 'I wasn't sure whether you'd want me to keep them, or throw them out. When you stormed off this morning…'

'This morning I was still pissed off with Simon, and I hardly slept last night,' I said. I yawned again; my sleepless night and long day was finally catching up with me. 'I don't give a shit about the tosser. But I'll keep his flowers.'

'You really shouldn't swear so much, Anna,' Vicky told me.

'You're probably right,' I admitted, taking a sip of scalding hot tea. 'James doesn't like it, either.'

'Who is he?' Vicky asked. 'You said you hadn't seen him since you were eleven. Where did you meet, and how did you recognise him?'

'Recognising him was easy, he's a few years older than me, he'd have been thirteen or fourteen the last time I saw him,' I said. 'He hasn't changed much, not really. He's a lot like he was the last time I saw him: good-looking, not quite ginger, with nice eyes and an inflated sense of his own importance.'

'Oh,' said Vicky. 'That's not good. Except the ginger, it's the way you described…'

'Simon! Shit, it is, isn't it?' I said, annoyed with myself for not realising. 'I was going to tell you that he's nothing like Simon. But I'm wrong. Crap, damn, shit and buggeration.'

I looked uneasily at my friend, suddenly uncertain about what I was doing. James had suddenly re-entered my life, and he had taken up my entire day. He'd cheered me up when I was down. But as I again remembered the horrible trick he'd played on me on my eleventh birthday, my anxiety grew. He had been such an annoying boy.

'So much for not swearing,' said Vicky, quietly rebuking me. 'Do you want to talk about James, about today? When did you first meet him?'

'When? A very long time ago, so long ago that I can't remember much about it,' I admitted. 'Which is hardly surprising, I was probably only two or three when we first met.'

I smiled at the memories.

'You don't have to tell me,' said Vicky with blatant insincerity. It was obvious that she was desperate to know more.

'Once upon a time,' I began in a sing-song voice. 'In the tiny village of Alwinton, in upper Coquetdale, in the far north of England, there lived a little girl called Annabel May Charlton. Everybody called her Annie, and she had a brother called Henry, who everybody called Henry.'

'I've met your brother, remember,' said Vicky. 'He brought you down here once, in our first year.'

'Oh, yeah,' I said, returning to my normal voice, 'I forgot, sorry.' I smiled at my friend, and continued.

'Henry started First School in the September just before his fifth birthday. It was a small rural school, and there was only one other new starter, another boy. The other boy was called James Potter. Henry and James hit it off straight away, at least that's what Mum and Dad always told me. And Mum and Dad became friends with Mr and Mrs Potter. Mum and Ginny—that's Mrs Potter—were very close, and Mum and I were regular visitors to Drakeshaugh—that's the house where the Potters lived.

'James had—has—a brother and sister. Al was in the year above me at school, and Lily was in the year below me. Lintzgarth—my parents' house—is great, but the Potters' house was better. It was big and rambling, and stood in about twenty acres of land. It was a wonderful place for kids, and we were a gang.' I closed my eyes and lost myself in the memories.

'We had some great times. We played in Drakeshaugh Wood, and paddled in Drakestone Burn. We—it sounds stupid, I know—but, it was an idyllic childhood,' I said wistfully. 'We were pirates, we were explorers, we were witches and wizards, we fought dragons; we did all sorts of things in the house and grounds. And we went swimming almost every Saturday, and we went to competitions when we got older. Henry and James were always getting me, Al and Lily into trouble.

'Sometimes, the Potters' cousins were there too. There were loads of cousins, but Rosie and Hugo were the ones who visited most often. They were in the gang too. You know I was a bit iffy with you when we first met in Endcliffe? That's because the only Victoria I'd ever met was a Potter cousin—she was Victoire, actually—she had a French mother, and was "tres chic", even at ten. I didn't like her. Anyway, in the summer we'd climb trees and build dams, in the winter we'd sledge and build snowmen, and we had some amazing times. Once, I even met Santa.'

'What?' asked Vicky.

I struggled to open my eyes. 'I swear, Vicky. It happened when I was four or five. I was in the Potter's living room and this man came down the chimney and stepped out of the fireplace. It's one of my earliest memories. I can still remember it clearly. Of course, I was certain that he was Santa. I've no idea what I _really_ saw. My brother tells me that I made the whole thing up, but I didn't. And the man I saw was real, because I saw him several more times over the years. He was enormous; I think he was called Haggard, or something like that. Drakeshaugh was that sort of place, it seemed almost magical. We had secret hide-outs and swings and…'

Vicky was interested, but I realised that I could tell tales of my childhood for hours, and my blinks were becoming longer. I stopped, drank more tea, and thought about what I was trying to tell her.

'And we grew up,' I said sadly, stifling another yawn. 'I suppose I'd always known that the Potters had more money than we did. We weren't poor, but we certainly didn't have a second property in London, and Mum and Dad definitely couldn't afford the fees to send us to a private school. But when James was eleven—actually he was almost twelve—he didn't go back to Middle School after the summer holidays. Instead, his parents sent him off to a posh school. It was somewhere in Scotland, I think. The year after that, James's brother Al went, too. There was only Lily left, and my brother had made new friends.

'The Potters were always back during the summer holidays, but it wasn't the same, and when James pulled a really cruel practical joke on me on my eleventh birthday, that was that. I still saw Lily at school and I was still sort-of-friends with her, but only sort-of, because I knew she'd be going away to school, too. So we sort of drifted apart.'

'Why was he here?' Vicky asked. 'What was he doing in Sheffield?'

'His cousin is here, she's at Uni,' I yawned again. 'You might even know her, Vicky. She's a numbers geek like you. She's only just arrived to start a PhD in Maths.'

'So she'll probably have moved into Ranmoor last weekend. What's her name?' Vicky asked.

'Rosie something…' I yawned again. 'It was a weird surname, no, not weird—weirdly, no Weasley, that's it, Rosie Weasley.'

While I'd been talking, Vicky had begun to tap and swipe her way through various pages on her tablet. There was a gleam in her eye.

'This is her, isn't it?' Vicky asked. She turned the tablet around, and displayed a photograph. There were two people in the foreground. One was a skinny middle-aged man who wore what must once have been a good suit; it was unfashionable, crumpled, and two sizes too big for him. He was shaking hands with a tall and gangly girl with a long straight nose and bright ginger hair. In the background, four other students looked on.

'That's her,' I said, blinking and rubbing my eyes as I peered at the picture. 'Unless that guy is really short, she's taller than me, and I'm no midget.' I thought back to the several parties I'd attended as a child. 'Her dad was tall and thin and had the same colour hair. She's got his nose, too. And her mum's hair was really wild, that's probably why she's got it cut so short. How did you know? Where did you get the photo?'

'It's from the S.U.M.S. webpage,' said Vicky. It took my sleepy brain a few minutes to remember that S.U.M.S. stood for Sheffield University Mathematics Society. 'She's the newest member of Professor von Seidel's Quantum String Group,' said Vicky. She sounded very impressed. 'Everyone calls them "The Impossibles", they're some of the cleverest mathematicians in the country. They're working with the Theoretical Physicists on something to do with string theory, imaginary, unreal, and impossible numbers. It's well beyond my statistical brain; it's cutting edge theoretical maths, all about…'

_The summer sun was at its zenith, and it blazed down on us with an almost tropical intensity. The birds where chirruping in the trees as we dashed out of Drakeshaugh. We were all in shorts and t-shirts and only one thing lay between us and the woods. It was big and black and shining._

'_D'you wanna sit on it, Henry?' asked James. My brother shook his head. Al and Lily looked nervously at each other, wondering if they dared._

'_I do,' I said. I dashed towards the bike, put my foot on the peg, and swung my leg over the saddle. James's dad's bike was huge, and once I was astride the seat my feet simply dangled either side of the engine. The bike had been in the sun for hours, and the saddle was so hot that it was burning my legs. I ignored my discomfort. I didn't want my friends to think that I was a sissy. I leaned forwards and, with arms outstretched, I grabbed the handlebars. 'Vroom, vroom,' I said, twisting the throttle._

'_It can fly, too,' James boasted._

'_Don't be silly,' I told him. 'Motorbikes can't fly.'_

'_This one can,' James said. 'It's…'_

'_James Potter,' James's mum shouted across the yard at him. 'How many times have I told you? If you keep this up, we will have to stop Henry and Annie from coming here.'_

'_Sorry, Mum, sorry Annie,' James said. 'I'm just being silly. Let's go into the woods an' play.'_

_Everyone dashed off, and I struggled to dismount from the bike. By the time I reached the edge of the trees the others had vanished, and the ground was covered in snow. I was wearing red polka-dot wellies and a bright red duffel coat._

_When I reached the big glade, where the rope swing was, the others were building a snowman. At some point Rosie and her little brother had arrived too. It was an enormous snowman and we soon used up almost all of the snow in the clearing, but James had an idea._

_Despite Al and Rosie's protests, he clambered up the yew tree and out onto a branch. Once there, he began to bounce on it. He was about thirty feet in the air, and the snow fell from the boughs, bringing most of the snow from the lower branches with it and creating a huge pile on the ground. Unfortunately, he also brought down snow from above, and it knocked him from his precarious perch. As I saw him fall, I squealed. But he seemed to slow down, and he floated to the ground no faster than a snowflake._

'_Wha' happened,' the giant asked as he dashed into the clearing. His name, I remembered, wasn't Haggard, it was Hagrid. He wasn't as tall as a double-decker bus. He wasn't as wide as a bus, either, but he was certainly big._

'_James fell out of the tree,' said Rosie._

'_But I'm okay,' said James. 'I, er, I must've landed in the deep snow. That was lucky, wasn't it?'_

'_Yer fine, I reckon,' Hagrid said, brushing the snow from James's back with a hand bigger than a snow shovel. 'Time ter go inside, kids. Food's ready, a real Halloween Feast. Follow me.'_

_As he turned and led the way back through the woods, I scrambled to my feet and brushed the autumn leaves from my black duffel coat. Hagrid was holding two wooden poles, one in each hand. Dangling from a string at the end of the poles were the biggest pumpkins I'd ever seen. Both had a carefully carved face on them, and they glowed orange. There was an almost impossibly bright candle inside each of them. We chattered and laughed as we followed the dancing pumpkins through the trees and back to Drakeshaugh and a "sumpters feast", as James and Henry called it._

_The Potters Halloween parties were always wonderful, great food and amazing fireworks were guaranteed. I was offered hot chocolate or pumpkin juice, something which only the Potters drank. I rejected both, and asked for tea instead. We were in the massive living room, and I stared into the faces of the pumpkins, which were now swinging from the ceiling. Flickering shadows did a shimmy around the walls as the pumpkins swayed in time to the music._

'_D'you have to go to that school?' I asked Lily. 'What's it called?'_

'_Yeah, I do, sorry. Bye, Annie,' said Lily sadly. She clambered onto the back of a giant red warthog and sat behind her brothers. 'I'm going to school.'_

_I tried to grab the warthog's tail, but I missed, and fell to the floor._

I woke with a start, and the feeling that I was falling.

Completely disorientated by my dreams of childhood, I cautiously opened my eyes. I could see very little, although the living room was illuminated by a faint yellow glow from the streetlights outside. My neck was stiff and sore, and my arms and legs were aching, too. I'd been swimming, and walking, I remembered. I had punished my body. I was, however, warm, very warm. Vicky had wrapped me in my duvet. I pushed it to the floor, staggered over to the doorway, and searched for the light switch.

As I blinked in the unfamiliar light, I looked around the room and tried to remember what had happened. The wall clock told me that it was almost four in the morning. I'd fallen asleep on the sofa, while Vicky was talking to me. She'd taken away the mugs and teapot. I checked the kitchen, and discovered that she'd rinsed the pot and washed the mugs.

I yawned again. I'd had virtually no sleep the night before, and I was still absolutely bloody knackered. Grabbing my duvet from the floor, I made my way through the hall to my bedroom. Despite the fact that I was barely awake, I spotted the slip of white paper on the doormat. Curious, I picked it up, hoping that it wasn't from Simon.

It wasn't, it was from James. With bleary eyes, I read it.

_Annie, I should have given you this when you asked. Sorry. Just in case you need it, or need me before Saturday, here's my number: 52637 768837. I know that it doesn't look like any number you've seen, but it's correct believe me. Thanks again for a great day. See you soon._

_James_

_X_

'James, kiss,' I said sleepily to myself as I entered my bedroom. After pulling my vest and shorts from under my pillow, I pushed the note into the same spot. I undressed, pulled on my nightwear, and collapsed into bed, dragging my duvet with me.

_Epic day, Annie,_ I thought to myself as I shuffled into a comfortable position. _Annie_ the name, like James, was a part of my past. I had not thought of myself as Annie for years. I'd been Anna since I'd gone to High School but now, because of James, I was Annie again.


End file.
